


Fatal Vision.

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels), valuna



Series: Law & Mind [1]
Category: British Actor RPF, Dracula 2000 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-27
Updated: 2005-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-03 06:13:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels, https://archiveofourown.org/users/valuna/pseuds/valuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerry Butler is a detective with a case he can't solve. Jon Miller is a psychic who just might be able to help him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fatal Vision.

Gerry slams the file down on the table. Three weeks and he's got nothing. It was murder. No signs of a struggle, no prints, no incriminating evidence. But there's a body, mutilated, cut. He knows that the body was moved after death. He knows exactly which cut killed him. Hell, Gerry even knows that the victim used to bite his nails. But he doesn't have a lead. There's no identification on the body. The face and prints are gone, and all the normal searches have come up with nothing.

He's not going to take it. There's a dead man on a slab, and the ones who did it can't be allowed to go free. There's only one option left. He'd be laughed out of the precinct if he told anyone, but he just needs a lead. And this can get him a lead. Gerry takes the items that were found on the body at the time of death and checks them out. He'll bring them back in two hours, three, tops. They've already been dusted and tested. If Miller needs to smash them to smithereens to find out their secrets, he can.

Gerry calls ahead. Miller's home and expecting him. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel as he drives over. The dead man haunts his dreams, and he'd do anything to get him to stop.

Jon's been following the case in the paper, or what there is of a case. The last article implied no leads, no suspects, little more than a dead body and a lot of unanswered questions. He wasn't surprised by the phone call, just by the fact it'd taken Gerry three weeks to make it. His house isn't in the best section of town. He likes it that way. No one wants to visit. Another fact he likes. Too many people crowd his brain.

Except he does like Gerry. The detective respects Jon's natural talent. Even if they don't always agree. He's waiting on the front stoop when Gerry drives up.

It's a long drive to Miller's place and Gerry takes the time to order his thoughts. He's going to shake Jon's hand and he doesn't want Jon to get a rush of images and get a headache, or whatever it is that happens when he focuses too hard on things. He doesn't want to pressure Jon too much. Just enough, if he has to. It was a grisly murder. There's a reason Jon was his last resort and it's not just because of the boys down at the station. He wouldn't wish reliving the murder on anyone. Except the murderer.

Gerry slams the car door shut as he gets out, and drops his keys into his pockets before walking up to Jon. He sticks out his hand. "Good to see you again."

Jon reaches out, grasps Gerry's hand and shakes it firmly. So many people don't want him to touch them. They're afraid of it. They don't think about the other side, how their emotions can flood him. It's not so complicated now, since he's learned how to control the random images. "It's good to see you, Gerry," he says, smiling, "although you could try visiting when you don't have a murder that needs solving."

"Yeah. Sorry about it." He always says that. And it's always true. But things pile up, and there's never enough hours in the day. Gerry gives Jon a half-smile. "Can I come in?"

Gerry's the exception to rules. He always gives Jon a strange vibe, ripple effect through his brain. Jon lets go of Gerry's hand, shakes his head clear and steps back, pushing open the front door. "C'mon in. There's coffee made, if you like, and beer if you're here in that semi-official capacity."

"Semi-official in that if anyone asks, it's friend-to-friend, and the police won't comment on an ongoing investigation to say that the detective in charge consulted a psychic." Gerry gives him an apologetic shrug. That's the way things work. "I'd love a beer."

"Not a problem. Let me grab the beer and I'll meet you in the study." The shrugs stopped bothering Jon a long time ago. "Want to bring me up to speed on what you know?"

"Yeah." Gerry hangs out in the doorway. "But do you want the coroner's report as well? I don't want to bias you, or throw you off." Jon's not a machine, Gerry knows, but sometimes it's hard to stop thinking of his gift as something that can be controlled that well. It's just that Jon's never disappointed.

Jon heads into the kitchen, talking back over his shoulder, loud enough for Gerry to hear. "Skip the coroner's report for now. Just give me the facts, the murder scene details the reporters didn't get." He grabs two beers and a bag of chips and heads back for the study. "Here, brought some chips." He puts the beers on the table and settles onto the couch, crossing his sock-clad feet under him.

"Thanks." Gerry sits down on the chair and looks at Jonny. "It's pretty bad. We found the body in the swamp, so that added even more problems." He fills Jonny in quickly on the details. There isn't much.

It's like Jon suspected, the cops not knowing much more than the newspaper had printed. "Body decomposed? Anything left around it?"

"Remnants of a tux. I got the buttons in the bag."

"A tux? Victim's?" Jon picks up his beer, takes a quick swig. "Let me see."

Gerry pulls the bag out of his coat pocket and hands it to Jonny. "Buttons, silver ring, watch. The only metal. Not even a cavity filling."

Jonny takes the bag, works the elements around under the plastic. "Was the tux on the body?"

"Yeah, in tatters."

"And you've no ID on the victim." It's a statement, not a question, and Jon slowly opens the bag, shaking out the watch onto his palm. It's almost immediate, the tingling that works through his body. "It's new. Like the night he was killed." Jon looks at Gerry. "How long did the coroner say he'd been dead when the body was found?"

"About a week." Gerry doesn't miss the way Jon reacts to the watch. It never fails to fascinate him. "Hard to be sure."

Jon fingers the watch. It's hard to explain to someone who doesn't have the ability, impossible for those who don't believe at all, but what he senses aren't visions. They're snippets, like a storyboard before the cartoonists get to inking it. Hints of what's there. The watch is screaming. "A gift. Not retirement, but some service award. Party. No missing person reports, I assume."

"None." Then the words catch up with him, and Gerry pulls out his steno pad and a pen. He scrawls _service award_ across the top. "A party, not retirement. Something with a watch."

Jon puts the watch back in the bag and pulls out the ring. It's electric. "Whoa." He drops it onto the couch, as is shocked. "Fuck, Gerry, he knew his killer. Intimately." He picks the ring up, gingerly rubbing it. "The man who gave him this ring killed him."

"_Fuck._" Gerry writes in all capitals on the pad. Intimate. Obvious motive. Obvious reason for no missing persons report from significant other. "Are you sure, Jon?" He trusts Jon, but he needs to know. It would never hold up in court, but Gerry needs to know. For himself.

Sliding the ring over his wedding finger, Jon closes his eyes. It's all there. The intense relationship. The sudden hatred. "Yeah. Sure of it." He opens his eyes. "Did the coroner check for signs of sexual activity? I'd bet there was."

"Some. Anal sex, but no DNA samples." Gerry grimaces. _That_ had been a pleasant conversation.

"There wouldn't be. He didn't want you to figure out who he is." Jon pulls the ring from his finger and puts it back in the bag. He settles against the couch cushion. He drinks another couple inches of the beer. "Gerry, I don't think this is your only victim. I'm getting multiple ripples."

"Serial killer?" He shouldn't push. Jon looks exhausted and drained and Gerry hopes he'll never have to see what Jon saw. But if there's a pattern, there's something they can track. No one's perfect. The killer must have slipped up somewhere and then Gerry can nab him.

"Possible. It's hard to tell. Give me a minute." The images had ripped at Jon's brain. Blood everywhere. The body'd been nearly drained by the time it got to the swamp. Something wasn't right and he couldn't put his finger on it. He pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes again. "It was messy, Gerry. Calculated pain."

Gerry'll give him a minute. He'll give him as many minutes as he wants. As long as it gets him details like that. Messy. Calculated to hurt. "Shit. Crime of passion." Then it should be sloppy. Unless it was preplanned with a cold precision that makes Gerry shiver to think about. But there should be fingerprints. Even spit or blood. Or hair. But there was nothing. Nothing. Gerry shivers. "Can you see anything else?"

"Too much. It's overloading my mind right now." Jon sets his beer bottle down on the table, grabs the bag of chips, opens it and pulls out several. "You need to get back to the station? Or can you stay awhile?"

"Have to get back," Gerry says apologetically. "It's the evidence. They just barely trust me to take them out."

Jon nods. "Yes. The evidence." He should've realized the risk Gerry was taking in coming to see him. "I understand. Let me try again, see what else there is." He tries to center himself, putting the chips aside and picking up the evidence bag. Tux tatters and buttons. He shakes them out into his hand, concentrates. "He had the tux made just for the party. Hadn't worn it before. Not off the rack. Custom." He turns the buttons over, studies them.

He'd rather not come to this decision, but there's no way around it. The images are too cluttered, too strong, coming from too many directions. "Can you take me to the swamp?"

There's a flash of guilt at pushing Jon so hard to get results, but, dammit, it'd been three weeks of nothing, and Jon knows more than the entire police force put together. He writes a quick note to check out tailors, and then stands up. "Yes, I can. Now?"

"No. Tomorrow morning." Jon shakes his head, trying to clear the images. It'll take the rest of the day to process through it. "Need to have a clear head for that. Will that work?"

Gerry tries not to let his impatience show. "Yeah, that'll be fine." Can't rush a miracle, anyway. He puts his hand out. "I'll come back tomorrow."

Jon's a bit more hesitant in taking Gerry's hand on leaving. "Sorry. Just too many images." He shakes it though, pulling himself off the couch against Gerry's weight. "Twenty-four hours, Gerry, and I'll have your answers."

"Thank you." This is favor, he knows, and he keeps telling himself that. The case has him on edge. He doesn't mean to be so short, so _business_, with Jon. But the days have been long and frustrating. Hopefully Jon understands that.


End file.
